


The beginning.

by Kahzooie



Category: Villainous (Cartoon)
Genre: Demon AU, Demon Summoning, M/M, Paperhat - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-17 14:49:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11277510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kahzooie/pseuds/Kahzooie
Summary: Feeling like there is no where else to turn, Flug takes advantage of an opportunity that seems to fall right into his hands - or more accurately, his head.An imagining of how the villainous characters met.





	1. A rainy day.

Flug groaned at the piece of paper in his hands. He'd never seen results this low - not since his last test anyway. He laid the results on his desk beside the other pieces of paper which confirmed that he would not be finishing the year with a doctorate, and would not be graduating. He knocked the frame that had been awaiting his certificate off of his wall in despair. Slumping into his desk chair, he thought with misery of all his plans for the future crumbling away right before his eyes. 

It was bad enough he had been rejected from college on his first choice; piloting. He had no idea until he sat the colour blindness test that he wouldn't be suitable. And now, after committing so much time to engineering, he wasn't getting his doctorate for that, and the jobs he had been hoping for had slipped completely out of reach. He knew he could've been successful, it was just that standardised testing was never his strong point. It didn't let him get creative enough. It didn't ever ask for what he really knew how to do. 

He sighed and covered his face with his hands. Worst of all, he had proved everyone right. His professors had scoffed at his blueprints and his concepts, even the most supportive had given him a sympathetic look when he had mentioned perusing a doctorate. 

_“You've barely scraped a degree as it is, Flug. Why do you want to go through more schooling? Can't you just do something with what you've got now?”_

What was wrong with having high aspirations? He had thought. He wanted freedom; not stuck in some sweaty tech room where his creativity was snubbed with a bunch of other losers whose knowledge went no further than fixing a hard drive. He wanted to show the world what he could do. He felt his hands numb and trembling as he pulled them down his face. 

He could see it already, how his classmates would react, smirking at him and offering their faux condolences at his failure. He loathed those who could strut through the years without more than glancing at their textbooks, or so it seemed to him anyway. Those “hero” types.

His throat tightened at what they would say at home when he returned with nothing. After all the promises he'd made about getting himself a better life...

Flug couldn't stand to be alone with his thoughts. He got up from his desk chair, gloomily moving through his dingy student apartment which to him seemed more like a cardboard box with windows - It had exactly as much protection from the weather as one anyway. He scooped his jacket off the floor and left. A walk might help him clear his head and help him come to terms with the harsh reality he was facing. 

He locked up and went outside, looking up into the sky as it rumbled with a warning. Typical. He headed in the direction of his favourite internet cafe. Black coffee and gaming sounded better than stewing in his own misery.

He had to do something or he might break down.

Flug re-read the “CLOSED” sign twice, feeling his stomach sink lower and lower. It was deserted completely out of the blue. He squinted through the dark window in the hopes of seeing an employee about to open, but he saw no movement inside. As his eyes swept over the dark interior he noticed a small notice taped to the window that was not normally there. It was a notice that the cafe was closed for the day as the staff – who incidentally were all students – had taken a day to celebrate their results.

Flug could taste venom in his mouth. What a slap in the face. As Flug was standing there, close to tears, his classmates were out celebrating their own good news, gleefully imagining all the opportunities the future could bring. He had never felt more outcast. As he thought about where else he could go, he felt something wet touch his cheek. Squinting, he looked up into the sky to see the clouds burst with rain, gradually getting heavier as it soaked him from above. 

He tried to shield himself from the downpour with his arms but a crack of lightening made him nearly jump out of his skin, hearing the rumble of thunder proceeding it he decided he didn't want to be caught out in this storm, knowing how horrible his luck had been today it was inevitable he would be the next thing struck. Glancing about, he saw what looked like a book shop open, lit and welcoming. Without thinking, he ran over and pulled the door open, sopping wet as he went inside, glad for the heat. 

“Hi, how can I like, help you?” The loud pop of a bubble preceded the monotonous voice. Flug glanced at the till and realised instantly he stood out from the other customers like a sore thumb. The girl behind the till was watching him, looking dreary and possibly even more dead than he felt. She was chewing gum, leaning over the desk unprofessionally, a tank with lizards behind her. She had a gothic look to her and as Flug glanced about he noticed that the shop he was in had the same theme to it. Dark, victorian-esque décor and magical looking objects covered the place, pentagrams on the walls near scrolls with strange fonts in another language.

He was sure he had heard people make fun of this place before, it was an occult bookshop and an emo hangout spot. There were a few other people in the shop sitting together on black sofas by bookcases, all with dark hair and dark eyeliner, looking gloomy. Maybe he wasn't so out of place after all.

Flug approached the girl at the till, not sure on whether to focus on her vibrant pink coontails, her various facial piercings or vampiric makeup. 

“Can you give me a better life?” He asked sarcastically. 

“Try isle 4,” She replied casually. Flug raised an eyebrow, wondering what could be in isle 4 that she was trying to sell him. As he was about to walk away, he noticed one of the lizards from the tank pressed against it, tongue out. 

“She totally hates you.” The receptionist had spotted him watching. “What's your name anyway?”

“Flug,” He wished he hadn't hesitated.

“I'm gonna call you zombie,” The girl tapped the glass with the lizards, trying make the one that was pressed against it move. “Since you look like, so dead inside.”

Flug frowned, not sure if he felt offended. Although, he guessed she wasn't wrong.

“What's yours?”

“Dementia.”

Flug snorted. “I think I went to school with your brother, Alzheimers wasn't it?”

“It's not my real name, it's my _blood moon_ name. I did it during like this witch ritual with my boyfriend Vlad...”

Flug cringed, nodding, hoping to end the conversation as he pretended to become immersed in a nearby crystal ball, moving away from the receptionist. He glanced back briefly to see if she was still talking but she had turned her attention to the group at the sofas, trying to join in their conversation from her desk. 

He noticed the tiny lizard had moved closer to him from inside its' tank, tongue still out. It looked like it was watching him. Feeling uncomfortable, he started to navigate through the shop, looking for isle 4, glad for the distraction from his thoughts.

After some quick browsing, he sees an empty isle with a large “4” above it. Relieved he didn't have to awkwardly shuffle by some goth kids, he goes down the isle, glancing at the books as he does, wondering if any of this trash was actually worth looking at. The overhead lights flicker and he hears some voices come from a few isles down, complaining about how the storm was getting worse. 

He frowns to himself, hoping the storm would die down so he could actually walk back to his apartment safely when something large and heavy suddenly bonks him on the head. He yelps, stumbling back, clutching his head, glancing around for what struck him when his eyes land on a large leather bound book on the floor. He looked up, seeing its' spot in a high shelf where it must have fallen from. He picks it up, looking at the cover, about to put it back before hesitating. 

The book had no name, no blurb, no inscription. It was blank and completely unmarked. He turned it over in his hands, looking for any small mark but its' only distinguishing feature was the large gold lock on the side sealing it shut. He examines the lock, seeing a small engraving of a top hat on it, wondering to himself why it was so appealing. It could be the mystery, or the fact he might be suffering from a concussion. 

The shelf was too high for him to reach anyway, so he took the book back to the desk, putting it down in front of the receptionist, now painting her nails. She looks up when Flug comes over, looking irritated that she would have to stop to serve him, hurrying to finish at least one hand. 

“Could I purchase this?” Flug asked, and she sighed as she put the lid back on the nail polish, blowing her nails as she picked the book up with her unpainted hand, trying to scan the bar code, pausing when she sees there isn't one.

“Uhh, this like, isn't ours.” She frowned, looking over both sides of the cover before giving it back to him.

“What are you talking about? It came off your shelf.”

“Yeah sometimes we get people putting stuff like their poetry in our shelves... prolly why there isn't a key for it.” She looked uninterested as she opened the nail polish bottle again. “Dunno where it came from, might be Derek again.”

“Are you sure? I still want to buy it.”

“Eh, the manger isn't even in. Why don't you gimme like, 10 dollars for it.”

Flug's eyebrows raise. “10 dollars for an unmarked book?! Can I just buy something else and take this too? I'll leave a tip or something.”

She shrugged and Flug looked about, trying to see something with a cheap price tag.

“What's the cheapest thing you've got?” He asked.

“Well the lizards are a dollar,” She points with her thumb behind her at the tank. “Means one less lizard I have to feed bugs and clean up after.”

Flug looks at the tank, seeing the tiny lizard who had been watching him earlier, still pressed against the glass, crawling up it, eyes still fixed on him. 

“Sure... I'll take that one.” He points to the lizard stuck on the glass. The receptionist shrugs again and puts down the bottle again, going to the tank. 

“Why do you have lizards here anyway, isn't this a book shop?” He asked, watching her.

“Yeah they're for like, potion making.” She said, plucking the lizard out of the tank and shoving it in a cheap paper bag. “Eye of newt, eye of lizard, same thing right?”

Flug's eyes widen in horror, mentally making a note to inform the P.T.A. of this, taking the bag and giving her the money and a modest tip. He turns away from her, taking the lizard out of the bag, not wanting it to suffocate, putting the book inside instead. 

The lizard instantly crawls up from his hand to his arm, he yelps and tries to grab it, missing and losing sight of it before feeling a sinking pain in his earlobe. He winces and reaches up, trying to tug it off but it's stuck steadfast. He sighs. 

“You were a mistake, weren't you?”

The lizard bites harder. He grumbles to himself, shoving the bag under his jacket in an attempt to protect the book from the rain as he goes outside of the shop, glad the storm had at least let up somewhat.


	2. The storm.

The thunderstorm had regained it's vigour, rain pelting the windows outside, leaking through the badly constructed drywall of Flug's freezing cold apartment, which was stubbornly refusing to warm up despite the heating being as high as he could afford. The new book lay forgotten about in the paper bag on Flug's desk amidst the morning's results as Flug struggled to pry his new pet from his earlobe. 

After many failed attempts, he eventually decides to try tempting the little menace off of his flesh, opening a bag of Cheetos and offering one to it, holding it up to his earlobe. Surprisingly, the lizard swapped its' attention from Flug to the snack, latching onto it instead, trying to engulf it whole. 

He quickly moves it down onto the sofa, watching it nibble, earlobe dribbling blood from the tiny wound as he frowns at it. 

“I should really name you if I'm going to have you as a pet,” He thought aloud, watching it for inspiration. “Maybe something like Claw? … nah... Spitfire...” He muttered to himself, trying to find something that would fit its' mischievous personality.

The lizard finishes its' snack, turning and hissing at him, fork tongue outstretched. He extends a finger to it warningly with a small smirk. 

“Careful with the attitude or I'll name you something dumb.”

No sooner than the threat had left his mouth, the lizard had painfully attached itself to his finger. He winced and grumbled to himself, trying to tug it off.

“That's it! I warned you!” He wiggled his finger in an attempt to get it loose, opposite hand reaching for another Cheeto.

His mind started wandering as he tried to think of a silly name, thinking about calling it “Stinkyscales” but considering that might be a bit embarrassing to tell someone if ever they were to ask about his lizard. Then, remembering the bookshop and the gothic receptionist girl, a light bulb lit in his head. 

“Perfect, I'll call you Dementia.” He laid a second Cheeto down for the tiny lizard and it released his finger, going for another snack. “I wonder if you can get lizard eyeliner... do you think she'd be flattered that I named you after her?” 

The lizard chokes on its' Cheeto. Flug's eyes widen and he quickly tries to help the creature, pulling the chunk of chip out of its' tiny mouth. 

“Maybe I shouldn't talk to you with your mouth full... and maybe I should look into getting you some proper food too.” He glances out of the window, covered in spatters of rain. “But later, when it's dry, okay?”

Flug picks up the lizard, a little shyer about biting after the Cheeto-choke incident. He takes it to his bedroom, looking for somewhere suitable to keep it. He scans the room, thinking to himself before spotting a shoe box on the floor, empty, which he'd been meaning to throw out. He picks it up, taking the lid off and placing the tiny lizard inside. He goes to his desk, shoving the papers off onto the floor, pushing the bag with the book against the wall to make space for the box. He takes his cheap heat-lamp, putting it on and directing it into the box. He had got it for some plant experiments but none of them had been very successful - maybe he shouldn't have bought the majority of his equipment at discount on Ebay.

Little Dementia seemed content enough, basking in the lamp's glow. He watched it, feeling weirdly proud of his new roommate. 

“You look happy,” he began, looking at Dementia, turning to move away from his desk when his foot caught under something and he trips, grabbing onto the bed frame to stop himself hitting the floor. 

Flug looked back to see what tripped him, about to cuss, before pausing in confusion as he laid eyes on the new book he had bought that very day, on the floor and out of the bag. He scratched his head as he stared at it, wondering if he should rename _himself_ Dementia. 

He had no memory of taking it out of the bag. 

He frowned, wondering if it had slipped when he moved it against the wall to make space for the shoe box. Glancing, he did notice a slight gap between the desk and the wall, but that left no explanation for why the paper bag now lay halfway across the room. It didn't make sense to him, it had only been a moment ago.

“Weird,” he mutters aloud, bending down to pick up the book. 

The moment his fingers touch the hard leather-bound cover, a flash of lightening fills the room and the next moment there is darkness as the power cuts out, moments before the sound of thunder rumbled outside. He gasps in shock, gripping the book tightly as he straightens up. The room was pitch black; outside the window everything was dark. He expected the whole street had had a power cut. 

Flug makes his way blindly to the kitchen, groping around one handedly as he stumbles, looking for the flashlight he kept in the cupboard. It wasn't the first time his dingy little apartment had had a power cut. He feels his way into the kitchen, hand running along the counter as he made his way through it towards the cupboard at the opposite side of the room. 

Before he could reach it however, another flash of lightening filled the room and Flug yelped in horror; it had revealed a silhouette by the window, leaning against the counter in front of it, tall, and distinctly wearing a top hat. Flug dropped the book in blind panic, and it hit the floor with a thud that was drowned out in the sound of the preceding thunder. 

He rushed to the closet, hands shaking, heart racing, throwing the door open and fumbling for the flashlight. Grabbing it up, he clicked it on and pointed the light at the spot where the figure had been, but there was nobody there. It had vanished. The beam of light trembled with Flug's hands. Terrified, he swept the room with the flashlight, looking for a sign of the intruder, but the apartment looked empty. He prayed it had been a trick of the light.

Quickly, he scrambled through to his bedroom again, pointing the light into every corner as he went, heart pounding, ears straining for any slight sound that would reveal a person hiding. As he got to the door, he slipped in and closed it quickly behind himself, doing a quick scan of the room before going to a small bedside cabinet, flashlight under his arm as he dragged it to the door, shoving it against it, knowing it would be a feeble protection but it made him feel a little more secure. 

He listened to the sound of his own breathing, the rain battering against the window and Dementia scurrying around in its' box. 

It seemed like he was alone. 

He wanted to forget it. 

It was probably just the tense and creepy atmosphere making him see things that weren't there. He knew that's what the human brain was like - he would be fine by morning. He went to his bed, getting in and getting under the sheets, flash light in his hand as he picked up his blue teddy bear, holding it tightly to his chest for comfort. It had been his favourite childhood toy and it almost always managed to calmed him down. He never thought to get rid of it even as he entered adulthood because as embarrassing as it was, it helped to have something soft to hold, cling to or to bury his face into, and this toy had been what he had always relied on.

Flug settled down into bed after a while. He felt better now, sure the silhouette he saw was a shadow from outside, or the shadow of something else in the apartment he had mistaken for a person. There was nothing he wanted to do other than wait for the power to come back; he just couldn't be bothered struggling with the flashlight to try and do something else. He snuggled down with his bear, flashlight still lit and pointed at the wall to make himself feel a little safer - just in case. It wasn't long until his eyes fell shut and the world drifted away...

_Smoke. Fire. A figure in black. A huge, sharp-toothed grin. Piercing eyes._

_A man stood in front of him, well dressed and smirking. He tipped his top hat to Flug, who was frozen to the spot. The man reached out to him slowly and Flug flinched away from his touch, but he didn't make contact. Flug felt something being put into his hands. Looking down, he saw what he had been given: a leather-bound book with a gold lock, top hat engraved into it._

His eyes popped open. 

The bedroom was light again. Flug stared at his ceiling and realised it was morning. He sat up, memories of the night before rushing back into his head. That must have been the inspiration for his weird dream. He looked around the room, seeing the flash light which he had kicked to the end of his bed. It was off and he assumed the battery must have burnt out during the night. 

He still felt groggy and half asleep. Rubbing his eyes, he moved to get out of bed, putting a hand down on the mattress to push himself up when he felt something cold against his fingers. He paused and looked down before his heart skipped; the book was there, in bed beside him. He gasped and jumped back away from it, staring before turning and looking at the bedroom door. The cabinet was still in front of it as it had been last night, blocking it. 

He had left the book in the kitchen hadn't he? Had he really sleepwalked out of the room and put the cabinet back in its' place in the night? He supposed it was plausible, since 3.6% of people sleepwalk at some point in their lives, and the possibility is even higher if you have depression - which at this point in time, Flug couldn't exactly rule out. 

Flug stared at the book on the bed apprehensively for a while as he thought about it to himself, remembering his curiosity and how he had felt when he had picked it up in the book store, wondering why it seemed to be following him everywhere before noticing something looked a little different about it. He frowned, realising the lock was sitting at an angle, rather than flat against the fore edge. He reached for it, picking it up gingerly, turning it on its' spine to examine the lock. His eyes widened as he realised it had been opened. He pushed his thumb under the opened lock and flipped it out of the way, opening the book.

He felt like such a fool. This book must have been unlocked the entire time and he hadn't realised. There was no other explanation for why it would be unlocked now, he couldn't lock pick - conscious or otherwise. No longer creeped out, he feels a weird sense of excitement as he opens the book at the first page, wondering what he would read, but to his disappointment the text was in a foreign language he was unfamiliar with. 

Just his luck.


	3. Reading is fundamental.

After a quick breakfast of some cheese and stale crackers he found decaying at the back of his cupboard, Flug headed out into town with the book in his backpack. He stopped briefly at a pet store to get some lizard food for Dementia, a little grossed out when he's given a box of live crickets to feed her. He was never squeamish when it came to bugs, but there was definitely something unsettling about buying a box of packed together, live insects for her to devour. He gave her something to eat before walking down to the library with her in his pocket. 

He went inside, having been here a good few times before for college study materials and books about planes to hobby read. Heading to reception, he smiled politely at the lady who was typing away on a computer, she spotted him and moved over to serve him, looking bored.

“Hi, maybe you can help me,” Flug started, bringing the bag off his back and taking the book out. “I'm trying to identify the language this book is written in but I've got no idea, I'd be looking for a dictionary in whichever it is so I could translate the text.” 

He handed her the book and she opened it curiously, peering at the pages before pausing and raising an eyebrow, looking at him sceptically. He looked confusedly back at her and her expression softened a little.

“...You speak English don't you?”

“Yeah,”

“Read it too?”

“Yes...”

She handed the book back to him, open at the page she'd been looking at, he took it back from her and his eyes widened in shock when he saw the text on the page. 

“Well that's English, honey.”

He looked humiliated, flipping through various pages, astonished to see that all of the text was, as she had said, in plain English.

“Oh... um...” Flug felt his face heat up, knowing it must be red. “I'm sorry, maybe I read it upside down the last time... _that's embarrassing...”_

Seeing his sincerity she looked a little sympathetic, realising he had genuinely gotten confused and wasn't trying to prank her. 

“That's okay darlin', anythin' else I can help you with today?”

“No thanks... I guess that's it.” Flug didn't wait around, keeping his thumb stuck in the page she had opened as if letting the book shut might reset the language back to something he didn't understand. 

He quickly made his way to the door, groaning the minute he was outside. How could he not have noticed? Did he really read it upside down the first time? He could've sworn what he was looking at this morning were symbols that weren't from any language he'd seen before but it was pretty early and his mind still was pretty tired...

He found a nearby bench and sat down, lifting the book again and scanning the page. 

It was still English. 

He was confused and a little worried for his mental health, however, he found it easier not to dwell on it too much and accept it for what is was now; a lot of bizarre occurrences coming from tricks his mind was playing on him. 

He could deal with the details later. 

As he scanned the page he noticed that the English was broken and not well structured, he was willing to bet that English wasn't the primary language of whoever had written the book. 

_How to change life good_ was the title of the chapter. As he read down the page it quickly became apparent to Flug that this was not a book of bad poetry as the book shop Dementia had suggested. It actually appeared to be a set of instructions for drawing a shape. _Take ink and make horizontal line then diagonal in shape of 7..._ was this some kind of art guide? He went to turn the page and as he did, lizard Dementia scurried down his sleeve onto the book. 

He started when she was suddenly on the paper before frowning; she must have escaped his pocket while he was absorbed in the book and he hadn't noticed. As he reached to grab her, she moved under a page that was sticking up, hiding away from him in the pages of the book. 

“C'mon you,” He called to her as he tried to reach under and pull her out but she scurried in a little further away from his fingers. 

He turned the page to open the book on the page she was sitting on when he froze in horror at what he saw. Dementia was curled up on an illustration depicting a figure, tall and well dressed, wearing a top hat. He had narrowed eyes and a grin of sharp teeth. Flug felt his heart hammering in his chest. _This couldn't be._

He took a moment to calm himself, trying to think of the logical explanation here; the book was opened this morning. It was on his bed by his side. He must have picked it up in the night, opened it, and seen the image without realising. His brain stored the information, thus producing his odd dream.

That's what happens, it's not unusual to dream about something you saw for only a fraction of a moment. Your brain picked it up but your conscious didn't, he told himself as he breathed out slowly, watching Dementia nuzzle the image on the page. She seemed to be attracted to it. He tried to pick her off the page again but she turned and gave him a little hiss.

“Sorry, geez,” He rolled his eyes, looking at the page beside the illustration.

_Dreams come true, take control of life for happy_ , Flug skimmed through the page. It gave him a list of objects; a top hat, money, a weapon, proof of worth, a flame and a cup... of blood. Now this was getting freaky. He re-read the passage above. Again, it seemed to be instructions but this time not for drawing. 

He turned the page and saw a diagram of a pentagram with the objects placed at each point of the star, the top hat sitting in the middle. Oh. He understood what this was now, he had seen something like this on T.V., it looked like a supernatural occultist spell of some kind. That would explain why it was in the shop he had found it in, maybe it was one of their products after all.

This all seemed childish and silly to him, ridiculous even, as he pictured himself actually setting this up. He rolled his eyes, tempted to return the book now but he had to admit, the dream... the silhouette in the storm... it had perked his interest, even though he knew it was only his mind. 

No. 

He absolutely wouldn't humour this tripe. He was an adult. He had things to do. Consequences of failing the year to deal with. He didn't have time to muck around with a kids book.

It was half an hour later when Flug walked into a costume shop. 

“Curiosity be damned,” he muttered to himself as he browsed, Dementia perched on his shoulder as he walked about, looking for the cheapest top hat he could find. 

He found a ridiculous looking black top hat with a red band around it beside an equally ridiculous vampire costume. Perfect. He lifted it and took it to the till, pausing as he walks, spotting a gold plastic chalice on a shelf. He thought back to the book, how in the picture the cup of blood had been demonstrated in a goblet. Eh, it was only 50 cents. He picked it up, taking the two items to the till and setting them down in front of an overly enthusiastic employee, who laughed as he picked up the objects to scan them.

“Getting ready early this year, eh mate?”

“Yeah. I'm going to a costume party.”

“Graduation party? Had a couple kids come in here for some stuff yesterday.” He chuckled to himself, bagging the items for Flug. 

Flug glared at him, handing him the money.

“No.” He replied bitterly, taking his bag and leaving, sneering at the door on his way out.

Okay, what was left? He paused, bringing the book out and consulting the list. Top hat, check. Blood, check sort-of. Weapon... he could use a kitchen knife, right? Flame... he had some candles at home, and candles are what they used in the picture. Money - that would be a challenge, he thought to himself as he rolled his eyes, picturing his change jar with a couple of cents at the bottom. That would have to work. And lastly, proof of worth... he had no idea about this one. 

He frowned to himself as he walked down the street, heading home. He didn't really have anything to prove his worth. Worth in what sense anyway? His intelligence? Well he did have a degree... he could lay down the certificate. Had he accomplished anything else in life? Not that he could think of. 

This was going to be tough.


	4. The summoning.

When he got home, Flug took the tub of insects out of his bag, shoving it away in the back of his cupboard so he didn't have to see it any more, putting Dementia back in her box. He put down his bag of fancy dress objects on his desk, searching for some paint to use on the floor to draw the pentagram. He was halfway through digging in a drawer before it dawned on him that ruining the carpet might not be such a great idea. He would never see a cent of his deposit and his landlord would probably personally strangle him. 

He straightened up, rubbing his chin as he thought to himself about what he could use instead that would be less destructive. His eyes swept across his busy work desk before he spotted a roll of masking tape. Perfect. He grabbed it up, getting on his knees on the carpet and using small pieces at a time, got to work on making a large pentagram on the floor. 

10 minutes in, Flug was already stressed and frustrated. He was having a hard time just getting the stuff to stick to the carpet; it was taking up dirt each time he accidentally pulled it up with another strip of tape, coating it and making it incredibly hard to stick back down. There were balls of scrunched up tape lying around him as he tried to work with the stubborn materials and create a convincing shape at the same time. 

He paused and stood up briefly to see how he was doing and saw the shape looked lopsided. He grumbled to himself, irritated, asking himself why the hell we was even bothering as he sank back to his knees, about to rip it all up and start again when he suddenly felt a sharp pain whack the back of his head, making him yelp.

He winced and grabbed his head in the place it had been struck, looking around to see what had hit him when he spots the book lying open on the floor behind him. It appeared to have fallen off the desk. As Flug grumbled and leaned over to pick it up, he tried to recall when he had taken it out of his bag since he got home, but he couldn't remember having done it. Convincing himself he had done it absent-mindedly, he picked the book up, glancing at the page it was open on. 

_How to change life good_ \- It was the instructions for drawing the pentagram. Convenient. Come to think of it, why hadn't he thought to consult the instructions earlier? It was a pentagram and a seemingly straightforward enough shape but he was having trouble with it now... 

He rubbed his throbbing head as he sat the book down open on the floor, reading over the instructions in front of him carefully. Despite the broken English, the book put drawing the shape in mathematical terminology which Flug understood quite easily. He mapped out each line and measured them with a ruler from his desk, helping him create the perfect formation. After a little amount of time struggling with the tape, he managed to get it stuck down enough to hold. It was much easier to work with when he knew precisely where he was putting it and it wasn't all mucking around and guess work. After a few minutes, he stood up to examine the shape he had created. Much better. It was much more even now. 

Feeling happy with his success, he consulted the book once again for his next steps – placing each item of importance at different points of the pentagram. He got to work, trying to place each of his own items in the corresponding points indicated in the diagram, unsure if it would even matter or not. He laid down a kitchen knife at one of the points, his change jar at another, a tea light candle at another, lighting it with a match, his diploma at the fourth and the empty goblet at the last point.

Dreading what he would have to do next, he took the pin holding up his calendar from the wall and cleaned it off with some rubbing alcohol, wincing as he pricks his finger with it and squeezes a few drops of his blood into the goblet. He hoped that would be enough for whatever was going to happen, because he certainly wasn't willing to produce more if it didn't. 

Finally, he placed the top hat in the centre section of the pentagram, moving back to get a better look at the whole picture. There, each item was in its' place as the diagram showed. He puts his hands on his hips, looking proudly over his work before catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror on the opposite wall across the room, seeing himself standing beside a pentagram and 6 pieces of junk on the floor. 

He took a long moment to contemplate his life, staring deep into the eyes of his own reflection. He wondered where the simpler times had gone, when a younger and happier Flug dreamed of the opportunities of the future, and fantasied about piloting his own plane. Now, here he was, crawling on the dirty floor dripping blood into a plastic chalice for what was likely an occult ritual, fully challenging the completely scientific outlook he had taken to life up until that point.

He turned away from the mirror so he wouldn't have to see the shame in his own eyes as he looked back to the book for what to do next; the candle was lit, the blood was in place, it looked like the only thing left to do was read the passage indicated on the paper. He took a deep breath and started to utter the first few words, but quickly trailed off when he heard himself, cringing and falling silent. 

What was he doing? This was ludicrous. He was trying to fix his life with nonsensical magic. He pursed his lips, staring down at the pentagram, holding the book limply in his hands. He wasn't sure what had compelled him to do this in the first place - maybe the hope it really would give him a better life like the book had promised him, or maybe his curiosity as to why so many peculiar things were happening since he obtained it. 

He considered clearing everything up in his sudden moment of embarrassment but he hesitated, he had come this far hadn't he? Set it all up, bought all the required objects... he might as well just see what happens.

He took another breath and started again, reading the passage slowly and purposefully. This part was not written in English, but the letters were of the English alphabet which didn't make it too hard to try to pronounce. He was very conscious of each sound he made, hoping he was doing it right, assuming there even was a right way for this to be done. He finished the last line and paused, looking up in anticipation.

For a moment, the room was still and nothing happened. He held his breath, turning to see if anything had changed, eyes flickering around before settling on his own reflection. He waited a moment longer... 

Still, nothing happened. 

Flug bit his lip, looking at the book again. Must be tripe after all. How could he have expected this to work? Yet, he had a strange feeling, like the energy of the room had changed somehow.

Something didn't feel right... something was missing... 

His eyes moved over the setup he had on the floor, trying to see what was out of place. Strangely, his eyes were drawn to the certificate of his degree on the floor. He didn't know why, but it was _that_ that was calling to him, bugging him, needing to be changed. He sat the book on his desk, going to the certificate and scooping it up. But, if not this, then what else did he have to prove his worth? He thought about it for a long moment, frowning. What was he really proud of? Was there anything he could say really spoke about his achievements and who he was?

Actually...

Flug crossed the room, going to his closet and opening the doors. Littered on the floor beneath a disarray of hanging garments were his proudest projects, most of which were unfinished and stored here to keep them safe and stop them becoming consumed in the day-to-day mess of his room. 

He picked the top one off the pile; it was the invention he was proudest of and the one he had been making the most progress with. It was a tiny camera-robot he had been using to keep a log of his work on his various projects and the tool itself had ended up becoming his main focus instead. It didn't take much to programme a motion detector into the camera to have it follow his movements as he talked, but he then came up with more ideas and started programming a little brain into this thing. 

Now, he had a little friend to scuttle alongside him, recording him, extending when he needed it to, keeping him in view, documenting his work. It could even edit out some of his bloopers. He was happy with it, and the more he thought about it, it was the perfect instrument to prove his worth. It was an example of what he was capable of when his creativity was allowed freedom. 

Flug took his little cam-bot over to the pentagram, sitting it down in the space his diploma had once occupied. Immediately, it felt right. The pentagram now didn't feel so out of place, he didn't feel quite so ridiculous. 

The room was calmer, quieter, ready for him to begin. 

He picked the book back up, heart rate quickening as he begun to read again, his voice sounding extremely loud against the silent room; not even Dementia was making a sound. As he read the last few words of the passage, he felt an eerie cold creep over him, and he smelt the smoke of an extinguished candle. Looking up, he saw a grey trail ascend from the wick of the tealight, and suddenly the lights dimmed of their own accord.

His first thought was another storm and another power cut but he quickly realised that this was something else, breath catching in his throat. A swirl of black smoke surrounded the top hat, lifting it off the ground in the centre of the pentagram. As it rose up, the smoke underneath it twisted down to the floor and began to form a figure, which quickly dissipated and begun to reveal the features of what was beneath, but before he could see what it had left in its' wake, the bulbs in his room unanimously burst, making him yell in fright, leaving the room in darkness. He breathed quickly, chest heaving, feet rooted to the spot in terror. 

He could see the dark outline of someone in the centre of the pentagram. His eyes were wide and each passing second made his heart beat harder as he waited for what would happen. A new light began to illuminate the room, coming from the ceiling but having no visible source, like a spotlight, revealing the person beneath it, more of his features becoming visible as it grew brighter. There was a top hat on his head. He was tall, well dressed, with sharp eyes which were focused right on Flug. 

He looked like no human Flug had ever seen before.

His heart stopped in his chest, paused in horror and awe, not sure if what he was seeing was real or if he'd fallen back into another dream. 

The demon crossed the floor towards Flug, stopping right at the edge of the pentagram where the boy stood, taking his face in his cold hand, leaning close, eyes burning into his terrified ones; 

_“What took you so long?”_


	5. Do we have a deal?

Flug stared in horror back into the piercing eyes of the man who stood before him.

Except, he was not a man. 

He couldn't be.

 _Demon_ was definitely a more accurate description: His skin was grey and colourless, his eyes and teeth glowing in the darkness, one eye obscured behind a monocle but it made his stare no less intense. 

He looked like he had stepped out of the Victorian age and right into Flug's dingy little apartment, wearing a long black jacket that seemed to fade into the smoke around them, as if they were one and the same, a shirt, tie and waistcoat that all looked more expensive than every item in Flug's place put together, and the costume shop top hat that despite its' cheapness seemed to look much finer on the demon's head, matching his outfit perfectly.

He was dressed to kill - probably literally. 

The demon broke his gaze as he let go of his face, stepping back and looking around. Flug saw the sneer on his face and shrunk back instinctively. He had no idea that obeying the book would bring him _this_ , and already he regretted it with every ounce of his being. This situation felt wrong, very worryingly wrong.

The demon moved to the goblet on the floor and picked it up, growling lowly in his chest as he tipped it up to his mouth, tongue extending like a lizard to lick the drops of blood from the bottom. Flug gasped in shock, stumbling back and knocking into his desk, making the whole thing shudder behind him. He could hear Dementia moving around in her box but barely registered her presence, still fixed on the figure before him, who threw the goblet to the floor in a fit of anger, looking back to Flug, teeth bared.

“Is this REALLY the best you could do?”

There was silence, Flug couldn't bring himself to answer, scared for what would happen if he did, but it only seemed to anger the demon more, who stalked around the inside of the pentagram, glaring at each of the items around him in turn. 

“A cheap plastic cup? A paper top hat?!” He ripped the hat from his head and glared at it, waving a hand over it. Flug could see it shift and change under the demon's hand, looking much higher quality now. 

He placed it back on his head and continued, going to Flug's change jar and kicking it hard across the room, the money rattling deafeningly inside.

“And what is this?! You couldn't even afford to offer me a reasonable sum?! These offers are the absolute bare MINIMUM I would accept to appear for,”

“...O-offers?” Flug managed to squeak out, but the demon ignored him. 

“Now, this,” He went to the tiny robo-cam on the floor, picking it up and admiring it before looking back at Flug, “This is much better than what you were trying to offer me before. This gives me a little bit of hope for you,” He put it back down, slowly walking back over towards Flug again, who cowered in his presence, clinging to the desk. 

The creature didn't leave the pentagram, coming right to the edge of the circle and stopping, looking over Flug like he could see right through him. 

“That we might still be able to make a deal.”

“What?” Flug asked weakly, the demon sighed, looking irritated, starting to walk the perimeter of the circle. 

“That's why you called me, isn't it? You're unhappy. You want a change, and I'm just the man to give it to you. But nothing is free,” He looks again at Flug, seeing the confusion and fear on his face he paused, frowning. 

“You don't know who I am, do you?”

“N-”

He didn't let him finish. 

“I am Black Hat. You could call me an entrepreneur - a travelling businessman of sorts. I happen to be looking for a protege at the current time.”

“Is this how people do business?” Flug mumbled feebly.

“This is how successful people do business.” He corrected him. “I can see you have aspirations, but you're too weak to fulfil them yourself. You need a helping hand, a spark to ignite the bomb. Well, I can help you.”

Black Hat stopped, licking his lips thoughtfully, looking back at Flug.

“Your doctorate. How would you like to graduate with it after all?”

“What?” Flug's eyes widened in disbelief. 

“You'll have it, no questions asked.” Black Hat continued. “And a piloting licence too. A stable job with a good income, you'll work for me.” He put a hand to his own chest, and Flug felt something twist in his stomach. 

He could tell this was a bad idea, he didn't want to work for this man, but the thoughts that he could bring success and stability into his life was greatly tempting. Black Hat saw his hesitance and continued, looking down at his robo-cam again.

“You have a great talent and a great ability combined, but you're missing something. A little flare that can bring your inventions a tier above what the rest of humanity is capable of producing.” He clicked his fingers and they gave off a small spark. “A spot of magic could fix that,” 

Flug swallowed hard.

“H-how do you know so much about me?”

“Your blood tells me everything I need to know,” He responded in a less than reassuring way, gesturing dismissively with his hand. “I can bring you everything you want, _doctor._ For a small price...”

“...And what's that?” Flug felt deep in his bones that he shouldn't be considering this.

He shouldn't even be listening to Black Hat. His senses were telling him to run as fast as he could, but there was something so alluring in the demon's offer that he couldn't. Black Hat smirked, moving to the edge of the pentagram again, watching him. 

“Your soul will belong to me.”

“I can't-” Flug began immediately, but Black Hat shushed him. 

“It's worthless to a human! You don't need it, it's just an unnecessary weight. I can do more with it than you could, you won't miss it. And think of everything there is to gain!”

“I- I'm not sure I believe you...”

Black Hat stared warningly into his eyes and Flug felt his blood turn cold. The threat in his gaze softened after a moment and he looked away casually. 

“I can assure you that my offer is more valuable to you than your soul, but if you don't take it now then, fine. I can find someone more worthy.”

Just as Flug opened his mouth to respond, movement caught his eye. Glancing at the floor, he spotted Dementia scurrying over to the pentagram. She must've gotten knocked out of her box when Flug hit the desk. He moved to grab her off the floor but she was too fast and had already made her way to Black Hat, who sneered in disgust as she reached his foot. She tried to climb his leg but he kicked her away from him, and she landed with a soft thud outside of the pentagram. 

“Hey!” Flug protested, running to her and scooping her up.

She seemed uninjured and actually eager to crawl back over to Black Hat again, trying to get out of Flug's hands and back to the demon. He didn't want her getting hurt for real this time, keeping a hold of her he looked around for something to keep her in for the time being where she wouldn't be able to see Black Hat, spotting the paper bag she had originally came in on the floor, he shoved her back in it, shoving the bag in the box on the desk again. 

Black Hat sighed loudly, annoyed by the distraction. 

“Enough. I'm a busy man and I don't have all day to hang around while you play with your helpless amphibians. Make your decision.”

Flug stared at Black Hat nervously, consciously keeping a distance from him, almost touching the farthest wall. 

“It's... um... it's kind of a big decision... I might need some time...”

“You don't have time,” Black Hat growled, starting to look impatient. “I see you're too cowardly to take control of your life. I'm wasting my time here,”

He stepped back into the centre of the pentagram, eyes burning into Flug's. Flug paused, chewing his lip, and dark fog began to fill the room, Black Hat was starting to transition into smoke once again, feet fading away first.

“WAIT!” Flug cried out in desperation. He had come this far in the hopes of changing his life for the better, and he just couldn't watch an opportunity like this fade before him. He had to be brave and do something for himself, even if it was reckless. This could be everything he had ever wanted.

“...I'll do it.”

Black Hat stared at him before a huge smirk slowly crept up his face, the smoke retracting and revealing his feet again, leaving him whole as the room cleared. Black Hat walked slowly to the edge of the pentagram, eyeing Flug carefully. 

“The right choice, doctor.”

He held out his hand to him. Flug stared at it, holding his breath as he went forward, taking it to shake, but Black Hat didn't move his hand. Instead, he held out the other, and a scroll appeared in it. He held onto one end of the paper and let the roll unravel to reveal the writing on the page. It was a contact, stating the terms Flug was agreeing to.

“Businessmen like to keep written records of the deals they make, just in case the other party tries to back out or go against their word,” He grinned at Flug, who looked wary. “Not that it happens often, just a precaution.” He added. 

Flug looked at the contract. The words were small and tightly squeezed onto the paper, making it difficult to read. He skimmed it, seeing a lot was what Black Hat already told him, but one line in particular gave him a chill – _your soul and everything associated with it will belong to me, Sr. Black Hat._

“Are you Spanish?”

“I am not from this world,” Black Hat watched him, eyes narrowed. “Sign the contract and we may proceed.”

Flug read it again and again. He was not a fool. He wanted to be sure he was not agreeing to something that would backfire on him. 

“ _Everything associated with it_ , what does that mean?"

“Don't worry about that line. It applies mostly a spiritual level.” Black Hat gripped his hand a little tighter.

“Maybe you could, uh, specify?”

“Maybe I'm starting to change my mind,” His eyes bore into Flug's. He didn't like the intensity of his glare and how he was already starting to become accustomed to it. A pen appeared out of thin air beside the contract, hovering. 

“Sign it.”

Flug hesitated. He knew there would be little chance of convincing Black Hat to elaborate and he didn't want to annoy the demon to the point where he would actually change his mind about the deal. He took a deep breath, taking the pen and signing the paper. 

The moment he did the contract and pen disappeared again, and Black Hat shook his hand firmly. He shook back and Black Hat let go, looking around with a devilish grin, leaving the pentagram for the first time to walk around. 

“Excellent. I do love exploiting this mortal plane,” He happily went to the window, gazing out at the town outside. Flug couldn't help but feel like he had just opened Pandora's box and set something evil upon the world.

“So, I've got a doctorate now?”

“Not quite.” The demon turned back to him, leaning against the windowsill. “I haven't taken your payment yet.”

“My soul?” Flug hugged his arms around himself instinctively. “When are you going to take it?”

“I can take it now, if you'd like,” Black Hat suddenly appeared directly in front of him, smirking down at him, sharp teeth glowing, almost viciously. 

Before Flug even had a chance to respond, Black Hat suddenly grabs his face, leaning close to him, inches away. Flug held his breath, face red, eyes huge. He could feel his heart slamming hard like a drum; this was too intimate for what it was - he was close enough to kiss him.

Slowly, Flug started to feel calmer, his heart rate and his breathing slowing. He wasn't sure what was causing it, but it felt unnatural. Looking back up at Black Hat, there was what looked like a sheer white veil between them. Was that his soul? The artificial calm was preventing him from freaking out about this. 

He knew he should be, but he couldn't. Instead, all he could do was gaze up at the demon, hearing an odd whispering noise in his ears, watching the veil sway between them like a sheet in the wind.

Only as it started to fade did he realise in what direction it was moving – it looked like it was being pulled out of him and into Black Hat. He felt a little light-headed, mind clear, able only to focus on what was directly in front of him until Black Hat let go of his face and he started to return to normal. He didn't feel the demon let go, only noticing he had been released when Black Hat dropped his hands and moved back, looking him over. 

He felt the same as he had before, nothing changed.

“Is it... done?”

Black Hat nodded. He was looking at him funny. Flug frowned, feeling a little self conscious. He could tell by the look on the other's face that there was something physical that had changed when he took his soul. He blinked hard, realising when he couldn't feel it that his face had gone numb.

“W-what is it?” He asked nervously, but Black Hat didn't answer him. Flug turned, searching for the mirror, but he was not prepared for what he saw when his eyes caught his refection in the glass.

He yelled in fear and horror. He no longer had a face - just darkness, like a black hole. He reached up to touch it, but his hands passed through it, like smoke.

 _“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!”_ He was traumatised, wondering how he could see and talk and think and breathe. Black Hat was watching him with an expression on his face like a child who has just been caught doing something naughty.

“Well, turns out there were other physical links to your soul-” He began.

“LIKE MY FACE?! WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO NOW?” He was freaking out, the calm was gone. “I CAN'T BE SEEN LIKE THIS!”

“Yes, you're right.” Black Hat surveyed the room calmly while Flug had a meltdown. He walked over to the desk, hands held behind his back. 

He caught sight of a hyperactive Dementia running around her box, free from the bag. She had managed to chew a hole through it to get out and was becoming even more excited in Black Hat's presence. 

He looked down at her and was about to move on before noticing the bag. He took it, holding it up. The place Dementia had chewed through almost resembled an eye hole. 

Perfect?

He took it over to Flug and put it over where the darkness was, consuming it. Flug was hunched over, breathing hard, clutching his chest, whispering madly to himself. Black Hat gave him no sympathy, pulling up upright and turning him to look in the mirror. He now had a paper bag for a face and one eye hole. Weirdly, Flug could see out of the hole but not out of the part of the bag that remained intact, almost like he still had both eyes, despite that he clearly didn't have a face. It didn't make sense to him, but nothing that had happened the last few days did either. 

“There.” Black Hat seemed to think he had solved the problem, giving Flug's shoulder a little pat before walking away from him, looking around the room.

“Now, let's talk business!”


End file.
